The Taste of Death

Chapter 2

           The screeching of my alarm clock woke me at 6:45 AM every day. I went to work at 8:00 AM as a Psychologist, and I got home at 6:00 PM. My schedule had been the same since my first kill, which was almost 4 years ago. The worst part of my day was getting up in the morning. My favorite thing was doing research for my next kill, as well as doing the killing, obviously. To be a killer you must like killing, it's how you keep that spark to want to do it more. More killing makes you more efficient and help your disposal ability strengthen, which is the most important part when committing a felony such as murder, believe it or not.

          As I sat up and watched the clock go from 6:46 AM to 6:47 AM, I heard Joe, my roommate. He was a Pembroke Welsh Corgi. He walked into my room and attempted to jump on my bed, so I had to pick him up and set him up there due to him only being 10 inches tall. I met Joe at a dog pound, where he was going to get put down due to there being a lack of space in that dog hell. I normally didn't feel remorse or empathy but he gave that look, one that made me ask to take him home with me. The dog pound gave Joe to me free of charge, so I guess you could say that I saved a life instead of taking one for once. I gave him a human name such as Joe because it helped me from feeling so alone, even though he and I both knew I was very alone. Still, we had each other until one of us perished, which was nice.

          "Are you looking at me like that because you're hungry or because you just peed in the kitchen again?" I asked Joe. He inched closer to me so I got out of bed and picked him up. I quickly threw the blanket in place on my bed with one hand so it didn't look too bad in my bedroom. I walked out of the bedroom in my apartment and headed towards the kitchen. To live in the heart of New York City was expensive, especially to have had your bed in a different room than your kitchen and living room. Nevertheless, it wasn't as cheap as you think to be a successful serial killer either.

          I put Joe down on the ground as I reached the kitchen, opened one of the bottom cabinets at the end, and pulled out Joe's food. His eyes lit up and I poured some food out of the little "Pet Food Scoop" into his bowl with "Joe" written across it. I picked up his other bowl as he started chowing down and put some tap water into it. I sat it next to his other bowl and he looked at me like he truly loved me, but that was probably just because I gave him food. Joe ate, then went into the living room and laid down on his little bed. I started making myself some coffee and went to the bathroom to start the shower. Once the coffee was done, I made a glass and sat it to the side. I was a fan of black coffee, I thought it was a perfect representation of my soul: dark, bitter, and required an acquired taste. I took a shower and got dressed in a dark-colored suit with a dark-colored shirt under my blazer. My hair wasn't that long so all I used was a little pomade. I put my only watch on and finished my coffee.

          As I put my mug in the sink, my phone rang. I got a little anxious every time my phone rang because I never knew who to expect was calling me. I quickly took my phone out of my pocket and saw "Henry P" on the screen. Henry was one of my clients, he seemed like a good guy but being a Psychologist really helps you see who someone really is. I answered the phone call and greeted Henry. "Hey Henry, your appointment is at 9 today so if you have anything to say would you prefer to save it for the office?" I'd rather have waited to talk to Henry. He was nice and all but I didn't even make it to the office yet. "Hey Doc, I can wait for the appointment. I just wanted to make sure we're still good for 9 today." Henry stated. Deep down I knew Henry just wanted someone to talk to, he knew his appointment was that day but he just wanted to talk to me for as long as possible. "Oh yeah, we're still good if you're able to arrive this morning," I replied. "Alright, good. I've got some stuff I'd like to talk about with you today." Henry said abruptly before he gave his farewell and hung the phone up.

          I was confused to the highest degree. I never got confused, not like that, at least. Henry was one of my nicer patients. He never showed up to that session he called me about, though. I always thought that a guy like Henry would be the type to end up in the wrong place at the wrong time, but that was the complete opposite. Henry committed suicide. On that day I didn't feel different, death doesn't phase me. I was just so confused as to why Henry would end his own life moments after I spoke to him on the phone. I was the first person the police spoke to, and the NYPD gets what the NYPD wants. I showed them all the records I had on Henry and all the notes I took of him and his well-being. They even saw where I wrote down numerous amounts of times that he just wanted someone to speak to.

          That morning I went to the office. I had mail. I never got mail to the office unless it was a patient sending me a gift card as a sign of thanks. This wasn't a card though, it was a box. I sat my black leather satchel down on my brand new wooden desk that I only used three times and placed the box on the desk alongside the satchel. I took the scissors from my pencil holder, a mug that said "best helper ever" on it, and cut the middle of the tape on the top of the awkward sized box. I opened the box and it had nothing but a weight and a letter inside. I didn't feel nervous or anything and I definitely knew it was from Henry. I picked up the letter and read it, it said:

          Dear Doctor Damien Price,

                    I know you're probably very confused about what I did and why I did it. I wasn't a happy fellow, I felt very alone. I didn't want to write you a sob story because you did your job miraculously. I just wanted to apologize for causing the confusion. No, I didn't do this due to me still having those dark thoughts we spoke about, I know who you really are. I feel like you knew what I've done and I made a pact to myself that if anyone kills me, it'd be me. I know you understand so there isn't much else to say. I've broken into your office enough to know that you have hidden cameras to record our sessions and that you do research on me. You know that I killed the man that killed my mother, I knew who you were long before I even started seeing you for help. I was hoping you'd kill me, but as I said, I made that pact. Don't worry, I agree with what you do and that's exactly why I went out on my own. I already have the police all over me, so you most likely would've gotten caught stabbing me in the back, literally. I know how much of a Julius Caesar fan you are and for that, I say, 'Et tu, Damianos?

                                                                                                                                   Sincerely, Henry Payne.

          I didn't really know how to feel after I read that letter from Henry. I didn't ever feel anything, especially not remorse, but I liked Henry. I was just so confused, why would Henry break into my office in the first place? "Well Henry Payne, may your story live on forever, in my filing cabinet," I chuckled softly to myself. Once Henry died I gained a lot more free time. I used it to do more research on my victims and to make sure I wanted them to be the ones I got to. I never forgot about Henry either. I never felt like he was being completely honest in his goodbye letter to me, but I forced myself to believe it out of respect for someone I almost wanted to care for.